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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



PICTURES AND POEMS 



OF THE 



PIKE'S PEAK REGION 



PICTURES BY W. H. SANFORD, 



POEMS BY ERNEST WHITNEY. 

A 



COPYRIGHTED 1890, BY ERNEST WHITNEY. 



Published by ERNEST WHITNEY, Colorado Springs, Colorado. 




^C3 W^2 



From Press 

OF THE 
. PHOTO-GRAVURE CO. 
New York. 



COLORADO. 

Land of the undtmmed heaven ! where the earth 
Hath reared her noblest altar to the sun, 
A continent its basis, and when done 
Capt with the navel of creation's birth. 

Here the new light first burst, the world-cloud's girth. 
Here through the sky a bluer woof is spun ; 
A kindlier heat is from the day-god won, 
Danae's boon freed from its curse of dearth. 

The land of beauty and sublimity, 

The land of color, the world's wonderland ; 

Earth's teeming mint where orient ores expand ; 

The haunted home of ancient mystery ; 

And in this world of death, disease, and strife, 

The one true home of peace and hope and life. 



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PIKE'S PEAK. 

Ivone, hoary rnonarch of the Titan peaks, 
Offspring of heaven and earth in plane! jars, 
Bare-bodied savage, grim with unhealed scars, 
To thy wild band thy vrice in thunder speaks; 

Thy sword stroke is the avalanche that wreaks; 
Quick vengeance on thy kneeling victin;. Wars 
Come but to yield thee homage, and the stars 
Visit thee nightly, yet thy long gaze seeks 

Unsatisfied the playmate of thy prime 

O longing like to mine ! — that goddess bright. 
The ocean stream. O deep embrace ! that time 

Forgets not, ere stem gods heycnd thy sight 
Her dungeons sunk. Thy memory that; thy hope 
This ocean. seeking stieam that cheers thy slope. 



-;■■/ 



PIKF/S PEAK. 

A silver cone in golden heavens high. 
Pure altar whose bright top the .suns illume 
With clouds of radiant incense, A great gloom 
.Athwart the night, where the .stars totien 

A Titan's threat the noonday heaven nigb. 
A promise from the desert. Mount of Doom. 
Lightning filled. Crest of the Continent. The tomb 
Of long lost rsices. Pillar of the sky. 

Parent of waters. Nurser of the plains. 
Giver of gold. King of eternal hills. 
Old symbol of the lasting and the true 

Day after day unchanged it aye remains, 
Yet day by day an aspect new it fills : 
The great is always great and ever new. 



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The Gateway at the darclen of the (lods. 

'Tis the gate of the mountains, the gate to the plains, 
The gate to a world of uew, unknown domains ; 
And the hosts of the east throng through it, wide ope, 
For they read on its portals "The haven of hope." 

'Twas the gate of the dawn of the first morning bright, 
And still feels the glow of creation's new light. 
Wide swung on the marge of the sea and the land, 
Through it crawled the monsters that haunted the strand 

111 primeval ages. Its threshold was worn 
By life's long processions while Eden, forlorn, 
Still waited life's promises. Under its arch 
Passed race after race in humanity's march 

When the bound of the west, to the mind of the east. 

Was the gate where Alcides his wandering ceased. 

What wonder the poet who under it trod 

Deemed he walked through the gate of the garden of God. 

P'or it rose in a glory of transcendent gleams 
Like the vision which shone on the prophet in dreams ; 
And he saw through its portals, through vistas sublime,. 
The wonders God works in earth's happiest clime. 



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The View from the Peaks. 

Sculptured by glacial chisel, and wrought 
Slowlj' to shape by the storm torrent's toil. 
Angel of God ! what all unearthly thought 
Lies in this group of Titanic turmoil ? 

What is Laocoon ? weak ! let it go ! 
Look to these warring ones, helmed black and white ; 
Once in high heaven, ere earth swung below. 
Archangels battled, and such was the sight ! 

Again look at midnight : stunned, cold with new loss, 
These are the fallen, bound under Hell's bars : 
Stern over all frowns the Mount of the Cross, 
And heaven is bright with the triumphant stars 



I'l ■ 



IN CHEYENNE CANON 

( Written on a blank leaf in Keats' Hyperion, t 

Deep in the shady sadness of this glade, 

Far from the fiery noon and eve's lone star, 

I see old Saturn resting after war. 

The forests hang above as though scarce stayed 

From falling, and the silence, like the shade, 
Seems palpable. I look from cliff to scar, 
And lo ! cloud like, .she 'cometh frotn afar 
With regal step, Thea, the undismayed. 

The canon fills with Titan shapes ; they stand 
L,eaning their shoulders on the mountain rocks, 
Or reaching boldly out a threatening hand 

To grasp the huge world fragments, earthquake blocks. 
Then heaven frowns black with storm, the lightning brand 
Falls, and the dim clifis shudder with quick shocks. 



I \ 



In North Cheyenne Canon. 

Aloft to the sunset light towers the ledge ; 

The ivy hangs heavily over the edge, 

As a cataract ready to fall o'er its face 

Had paused ere its plunge for the fear of the place. 

The harebell and columbine cling to the cliff, 
Where the frost-king hath carven his wierd hieroglyph, 
Like the spots of bright color on manuscript old 
Where the secrets of faith and of magic are told. 

And here hover readers, the raven and dove, 

From the same palimpsest reading hatred and love. 

And turning to utterance mystic the spell 

They have read from the runes on the rock in the dell. 

'Tis a temple enchanted and hallowed of old, 
And its priests are the fir-trees so solemnly stoled. 
Ever chanting in murmuring harmony low 

In anthems the mysteries none other know, 
Ever shedding their sweet benedictions of peace 
On the soul that here seeketh in nature release. 



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THE SEVEN FALLS. 

These are man's seven ages in the stream 
Of life eternal, hurrying with the roar 
And rush of madness to the goal ; and sore 
With toil to make life's rugged pathway seem 

Less painful. Half in air, as they did deem 
Strong-binding earth no part of them, but bore 
A life ethereal, and therefore wore 
This cloud-white livery, bright with heaven's gleam. 

Earth is the jagged cliff in Time's long course, 
Life's death leap : o'er it, from an unknown source, 
Life breaks, a living stream before ; and still 

Flows on mysterious missions to fulfill 
Beyond the present, toward the unknown sea 
Down the long reaches of eternity. 



The Mourners on Cheyenne. . 

(Ai the grave of H. H.) 

There Summer cometh, shuddering at death. 
Bowing her regal beauty in her dread 
Long bitterness of loss, and scattereth 
Dust, dust and bitter ashes o'er the dead. 

There sobered Autumn in funereal weed. 
With locks dishevelled, leaves her ripest sheaf, 
And while low winds a solemn requiem lead, 
She, lingering, weeps her fill of wasting grief. 

And Winter, from the battle fields of storm, 
Scarred, worn, and woe-racked, yearly bringeth there 
His calm white shroud, to spread above that form. 
Keeping unjarred the peace he cannot share. 

And Spring, with dew-bright eyes gladdened with hope, 
Brings hither all the first flowers of the lea ; 
And while with brow toward heaven her eye-lids ope, 
She softly whispers " Immortality !" 



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UTE PASS. 

Vast corridor through Nature's roofless halls, 
Pike beckons welcome far across the land 
To this sole gateway through his granite walls, 
By Chaos wrought with harsh, primeval hand. 

He scarred his pathway through the frighted chasm 
With shattered ledge, and splintered crag in air, 
And cliffs that writhe as though, in torturing spasm. 
Some hideous monster met the Gorgon's stare. 

But only once he through the ravine stormed, 
While year by year roamed Beauty in the path, 
And wheresoe'er she stept, that spot transformed 
Bears her soft smile amid his work of wrath. 



On Cheyennh Mountain at Twilght. 

The pale light lingering along the land, 
The low land sinking through the waning light, 
Fill me with sobered thought. So comes'the night 
Of death, when lifted high o'er earth we stand. 

And all fades out beneath us, while more grand 
Heaven opens wide above. New glory bright 
Comes in the nearer stars, that fill the sight 
Down to the darkness by earth's shadow spanned. 

And the sweet peace that man so rarely gains. 

Though nature ever offers it to all, 

Comes balmy, soothing life's tumultuous pains. 

Lo ! the old truth enforced, though blind and bound 
I move nor see beyond life's carnal wall, 
Yet heaven is here as in the vast profound. 



IN MONUMENT PARK. 



Read the story of the stones ! 
We are in the house of thrones, 
On the graves of empires dead 
When the earth but giants bred, 

And our race of petty men 
Lived but in the prophet's ken. 
Crumbled are their palace walls, 
Roofless lie their empty halls. 

And the pillars stand in vain 
Bowed beneath their ancient strain. 
Dust are all the kings today 
Who amid these courts held sway ; 

Humbled are the temple gods. 
And the broken idol nods 
O'er the altar, bare and cold, 
Where the victim knelt of old 



But the groups of regal fortns, 
Changeless through a thousand storms, 
Mute historians of the past, 
Tell the ancient tales at last. 

Nay, what grace can artifice 
Add to such a scene as this ! 
Then away with fancy,'s guess ! 
Better Nature's truthfulness, . 

Simple, beautiful, sincere. 
She hath nobler history here, 
Eloquent to every heart 
More than utterance of art, 

Solemn as a chanted hymn 
In cathedral cloister dim. 
Even the savage in this dell 

Felt the soul within him swell 
With the sense of higher things 
Which the best of nature brings. 



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